


into the woods

by Psilent (HereThereBeFic)



Series: catch your breath; there are no breaks [4]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Dark, Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Illustrated, M/M, Magic, Number 9 Was Not Nice, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partially-Fae Robbie, glamour, ship as minimal background noise to plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereThereBeFic/pseuds/Psilent
Summary: Sportacus has recovered from his own encounter with one of Number 9's lingering glamours. Now it's time to break Robbie out of it.In which Sportacus worries, Robbie does not appreciate that worry, revelations and magic abound, and Our Heroes take a step off the beaten path.Which is not the best idea, thaumaturgically speaking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> everyone run i'm attempting multi-chapter fic again (though i am at least a chapter ahead)
> 
> also, thank you so much again to any and all readers, kudos-ers, commenters, and bookmarkers of this series <3 sorry for being a socially anxious mess too nervous to respond to comments, but i read and appreciate every one
> 
> i am also on [tumblr](http://defectivevorta.tumblr.com)

It had been a week.

Sportacus was itching to _do_ something, anything, about the situation. He wasn't used to being –– well, "hurt" wasn't entirely accurate. He just felt... drained. And recuperation was not something he had much experience with. It felt a lot like stalling. Or drowning.

Quite possibly the only thing keeping him from rushing headlong into the next step _right_ _now_ was the fact that it wasn't just his own safety he'd be putting at risk.

So he went about his daily life, playing with the children, helping everyone with their problems, shoving down the creeping dread and trying not to scream.

And then Stephanie mentioned that she wished the summer could last just a little bit longer, because she didn't want to go home for the school year yet.

Curiosity and panic flared as one. He thought quickly, seeking for something to say that wouldn't be dangerous. Something that might come up in any casual conversation, something the glamour would be well equipped to handle without _hurting_ anyone.

Keeping his voice as normal and upbeat as possible, he said, "But think of all the stories you'll be able to tell your friends back home!"

Stephanie frowned. "That's just it, though! No one _ever_ seems interested in hearing about LazyTown! My parents listen, but no one else does. It's really weird!"

The other kids all piped up, echoing Stephanie and agreeing that that was _super_ weird, before their attention just... slid off the topic and onto something else. Stephanie looked confused for a moment, and then her expression cleared and she happily joined the new conversation about redecorating the treehouse.

Sportacus left them to it. Autopiloted numbly through an excuse about needing to fix something on his ship, hopped a wall, and took off at a run.

So. Number 9 had taken precautions to keep the glamour from spreading too far, stretching too thin.

His initial reaction, of course, was further horror at this new revelation about the extent of Number 9's powers. But immediately after that ––

Self hatred bubbled up, threatening to choke him.

Because his second thought was:  _Good._ _One l_ _ess_ _thing_ _to worry about_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may be taking some slight liberties with the exact layout of lazytown and its surrounding area

Another week went by, and Sportacus was fine. He was _fine_.

Except –– _now_ , now that the waiting was _over_ , he was hesitant. Afraid.

Stalling.

It was just –– Robbie was _human_ , or mostly human. He was an _elf_ , and breaking this glamour had nearly killed him. Granted, he hadn't exactly been up to his full strength at the time, but still.

He was... worried.

And he was doubly worried by how worried Robbie _wasn't_.

They were in the woods. Deep in the woods, as far from town as Sportacus had ever ventured on foot, and still walking. It made for a deceptively serene backdrop: nothing but undisturbed nature, a pleasant breeze, and the looming potential for everything to go horribly wrong.

Of course, he and Robbie had been walking together for nearly half an hour now, and the inevitable, ongoing argument was actually doing wonders for his nerves.

"I'm not made of _glass_ ," Robbie huffed, crossing his arms –– and then immediately uncrossing them to steady himself after stumbling over a tree root. "You think I've been sitting around doing _nothing_ the last two weeks?"

"Well..."

" _All right_ , fair. But I _haven't_." He tapped at his cufflinks. "I'm packing enough anti-magic power to turn a rainbow gray."

Ah. That explained the buzzing at the back of Sportacus's skull. "Isn't that bad for you?"

"It's not anti- _my_ magic. There's a little something called _precision_ , maybe you've heard of it. What was _your_ plan for this, just rip the glamour off like a bandaid and hope for the best? Because that worked out so great for you?"

"I just..." Sportacus faltered. He _had_ a plan. Just, maybe not a very... articulated one. "I just thought –– if we worked together, maybe we could, you know, contain it?"

Robbie snorted. "So your 'plan' was step 1, _teamwork_ ; step 2, crayon smiley face. Charming."

Sportacus tried not to be annoyed. Robbie did have a point. "What's _your_ plan, then?"

"I'm so glad you asked! Step 1," Robbie announced, clearing his throat, "whip up some wards from the good old days, douse self liberally. Step 2, find old pre-warded accoutrements ––" here he gestured grandly to indicate his entire outfit, which looked... completely identical to what he normally wore, " _a_ _ccoutre_ self liberally. Step 3, get far away from populated areas in case things go sideways. Step 4..." He hesitated.

Sportacus smiled, maybe a touch smugly. "Bandaid?"

"Step 4," Robbie said loudly, glaring daggers at him. "Hope the e–– the other guy knows what he's doing." He kicked a rock, and added angrily, "I could have put some wards together for _you_ , if your subconscious hadn't decided to poke a very _awake_ bear while _you_ were sleeping."

The rock rolled over to Sportacus, and he automatically trapped it and started dribbling it between his feet like a soccer ball as he walked, turning Robbie's words over in his mind. Considering the source, that had practically been an apology. "I'll remind my subconscious to check in with you about its plans from now on."

"You do that," Robbie grumbled, switching his glare to the rock.

Sportacus grinned, and passed it to him. Robbie gave him a disgusted look, picked up the rock, and flung it into the trees.

Then he stopped. "I think we're far enough."

Sportacus felt a wave of cold resignation wash through him.

Right. Comforting banter time over: they were here for a reason.

He glanced around. "Why here?"

Robbie shrugged. "We're maybe a few dozen feet from the end of the path. About as far as we can get from town without veering off into untamed forest, which, not the _best_ idea, thaumaturgically speaking. But I'm sure you knew that."

Sportacus stared –– and then blinked, and had to look away. Robbie's outward appearance was the same as ever, but all the wards were making it difficult to look directly at him for any length of time. "You really have done this before."

" _All by myself_ , even," Robbie sneered. "Give the human a _treat_."

Sportacus winced. "That's not what I ––"

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

He ground his teeth together. _Fine_. Sure. It maybe wasn't the _best_ idea in the world to do this while actively annoyed with each other, but then again, when weren't they? The back-and-forth on the way here had kept _him_ relatively calm. Maybe Robbie just needed that to continue.

Deep breath. "Are your wards even going to let me help you?"

Robbie gave him a pitying look. "No, I let you tag along because I appreciate your _company_."

Sportacus sighed. "I'm _just_ asking. They kind of hurt to look at."

" _Ah_. Welllll..." Robbie rubbed the back of his neck. "Broadly speaking, they are, _technically_ , in the most _basic_ sense... anti-elf wards. _But_ ," he added quickly, "more specifically and more _importantly_ , they're anti elf-trying-to- _kill_ -me, not anti elf-trying-to-lecture-me-about-healthy-lifestyle-choices."

Sportacus swallowed a laugh and tried to look suitably insulted. "Well, I don't plan on doing either of those things today."

"Good." Robbie sat down cross-legged on the path and shut his eyes. "All you have to do is sit next to me and be an elf. Absorb some of the magic." He opened one eye in a tentative squint. "If... you're up to that."

Sportacus heard the underlying question: _if you're willing to do that for me_.

He sat down.

Robbie let out a breath, hunched his shoulders, and removed his left cufflink. He dropped it into an inside pocket of his vest, and then grabbed Sportacus's right hand with his left. "Keep this point of contact," he said tersely. "Don't touch me anywhere else. The wards will burn you."

"Good to know."

"Oh –– wait." He sat up straighter and regarded their clasped hands with a critical gaze. "Do your gloves do anything?"

"Um." Sportacus ducked his head, suddenly self-conscious. "Magical? No."

Robbie gave him a sidelong glance. "You're telling me the gloves you started wearing, _after_ getting poisoned half to death and almost bleeding out through your hand, _aren't_ instilled with even the most basic magical protection."

"I did not _almost_ _bleed_ _out_ ," Sportacus protested, indignant.

"You don't know that!" Robbie scoffed. "You were unconscious!"

"We're getting sidetracked."

"Yes, and it was going _great_ until you pointed it out just now."

Sportacus bit his tongue. "Look, I know the gloves are... silly," he said, looking down at their joined hands. "It just –– makes me feel better. That's all."

"Oh." Robbie's voice went oddly quiet. "Got it."

Sportacus frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Robbie shrugged. "I just mean it makes sense."

"Does it?"

"We can have an uncomfortable conversation about coping mechanisms _later_ , if you _really_ want to," Robbie said, frustration creeping into his tone. "Right now the important thing is _your_ _s_ aren't going to block any magical transference."

"Oh. Right." Sportacus cleared his throat. "Uh, good."

"So. Like I said." Robbie shut his eyes again and took a deep breath. "Let's get this over with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is 99% written and the ones after are completely planned out


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was just a little too familiar.

It had been years since he'd been this deep into the woods.

It was a risk, not telling Sportacus about all the old wards lying around. But... Well...

It _had_ been years. Years since he'd renewed any of them, closed the broken circles, reset the fallen branches, touched up the general magic of the area. Most of his defenses were still _around,_ but they were dormant.

Useless.

The thought was not a comforting one. He suppressed a shudder.

He didn't need them. He didn't _need_ them; the only elf for miles around was currently here at _his_ invitation. Trying to help.

Holding his hand.

Robbie bit back a laugh.

"Okay." Sportacus broke the silence that had fallen between them. His voice was thrumming with nervous energy. "Robbie, I need you to think –– _really_ _think_ about the fact that ––"

Robbie heard the next words, but they didn't make sense. "Say that again," he said slowly.

Sportacus said it again.

Robbie felt a familiar ice cold fire crawling up and down his arms. His legs. His spine.

Good. It was working.

And –– oh.

So that was the _squeezing_ sensation.

It really was like a vice, all over. Every inch of him felt like it was going to snap. It hurt almost too much to comprehend.

Almost.

He doubled over, gasping for breath, muscles and tendons straining. If he could just –– get control of one arm, enough to get a counterspell going, _anything_ ––

Sportacus gripped his hand tighter, and the pain lessened. Too much, too fast. "Don't take all of it," Robbie ground out, exasperated. "I'm not saving your life _again_ , Sportaloser."

 _Elf_ , he thought. _I meant to call him 'elf.'_ Somehow he couldn't bring himself to. Not here, and especially not now. Not when his skin was crawling, adrenaline spiking, hard-won and reluctantly retired instincts waking up and screaming at him to _stay_ _alert_ _, pay attention, he's got to be somewhere_.

The pain grounded him much more than the hand holding his own.

 _It's just pain_ , he thought. _You know how to outlast that._

Sportacus was talking again, probably telling him to keep thinking about –– well, Robbie couldn't make out the words over the rushing in his ears, or his own heart pounding like footsteps ––

No. Those _were_ footsteps.

He kept his eyes shut tight, and knew it wouldn't make a difference.

The scene materialized around him. The woods. Alone. Dull, panic-numbed resignation: his wards were broken.

The footsteps were deliberate. He could have been silent. He was _toying_ with him. Enjoying the fear, enjoying the moment of realization.

 _It's not real, it's not real, it's not real_.

He could smell snow. The footsteps were closer. He couldn't see a face. Just a flash of teeth.

 _ **Hello** , **Robbie**_.

It wasn't real, _he_ wasn't real, not real _now_ , not real _here_.

_**Found you.** _

Imagery was inconsistent, broken, staticky. Flashes of winter forest and disjointed bits of person. That grin, right in front of him. Knees hit the snow, mock kindness, a hand up. This had never happened, had it? No. An old nightmare. A bright number, refusing to solidify. 9, 10, 9, 10, 9, 10...

He watched two hands take hold of both of his. He could feel the grip on his left, but nothing was touching his right, and he focused on that absence: a dead giveaway. All the hands had the right number of fingers, he noted automatically, shivered, and brushed the fact aside. It didn't mean anything. Dreams couldn't do that, but elf glamours could. Didn't make it real. Nothing was _touching_ his right hand. Didn't matter how many fingers.

 _Not real. Not real. Not real_.

The grin vanished. The woods vanished. He tried to open his eyes, not really daring to hope that it was over. It wasn't.

Nothing.

Not _darkness_ ; nothing.

Not _silence_ ; nothing.

Not solitude. _Nothing_.

Not Robbie.

Nothing.

He couldn't think. How could he think –– he wasn't anywhere, he wasn't anyone, there was nobody to do the thinking ––

Pressure.

From –– what? _On_ what?

A hand.

 _His_ hand. Left hand.

He had to exist to have a hand. Or a sense of left and right. Or to question these facts. Perplexity, proprioception, panic: all of these things required a brain to happen in.

_I'm here. I'm real. I'm me._

The nothingness snapped.

Robbie wrenched his eyes open and for one confused moment expected to see snow.

No. No, of course not. It was summer. Late afternoon sunlight was filtering down through the trees, which Robbie realized he was staring up at, lying on his back.

"Are you all right?"

He couldn't bring himself to move. Not even to roll his eyes at such a ridiculous question.

Sportacus fell mercifully silent. Robbie let his eyes fall closed, waiting for his consciousness to figure out whether or not it needed a break.

It really, really did.

Too bad.

He sat up.

Looked down and realized the elf –– realized Sportacus was still holding his hand, grip almost painfully tight.

Sportacus followed his gaze. Loosened his hold enough for Robbie to pull away, but didn't let go. "Are you okay?" he asked again, very quietly.

Robbie had no answer to that. He stared into the trees and said, "You know, it's sickeningly perfect that your _worst fear_ is something happening to those brats."

Sportacus didn't miss a beat. Give the man some credit, he knew a cue when he heard one. "Hey, I didn't even know I _had_ a worst fear."

"Most people don't."

"Don't have one, or don't know?"

"Both. Either." Robbie at last summoned the will to separate their hands. " _Mine_ are all suitably selfish, I can assure you."

"I would expect no less."

He opened his mouth to respond again and then shut it, realizing he had run out of words. He kept staring straight ahead, waiting for his mind to wrap itself around the new knowledge that had been so unceremoniously dropped into it.

This was why he didn't use glamours.

He could have. He'd learned enough about them –– they'd never be as powerful as an elf's, but he could have put _something_ together.

He didn't.

Sure, he used illusion. He used the power of suggestion. He used disguises, he used trickery, he used subterfuge and distraction.

He did not use glamours.

He _hated_ glamours. Hated what they did to a mind, made it tie itself in knots trying to un-think thoughts, un-read context clues, un-make connections. He found the whole thing distasteful: brains were quite skilled in the art of repression all on their own; there was no need to bring _magic_ into it.

It did occur to him, sometimes, that the things he did were –– not completely _un_ -glamour-like. But there was a reason he didn't try harder. There was a reason he didn't reinforce the spells. There was a _reason_ he applied the vast majority of his illusory magic to easily removable costume pieces.

Because he hated _this_. This feeling of just –– just, suddenly, there it was. And there it had been. Right here. All along.

"Robbie?"

"He took them," he whispered. He could barely hear his own voice over the thundering in his ribcage. ( _Not footsteps, not him_ _, not real_.)

There was a blank space where emotion should be. An emptiness that he resented for drawing his attention to it. This didn't make enough sense yet. He was already supposed to _feel_ things about it?

He stared blankly down at his hands, clenched unbidden into fists in the dirt path. Maybe he was angry, then. He could work with anger.

Deep breath. He looked up at Sportacus and said, again, the words he'd been unable to think all these years:

"He just... _took_ them."

* * *

_[Art](https://amolecularmachine.tumblr.com/post/158916091474/sooooo-ive-been-reading-catch-your-breath-there) by [Amolecularmachine](https://amolecularmachine.tumblr.com/). Posted here with artist's permission._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rough draft of next chapter is done, following chapters are planned


	4. Chapter 4

_"Robbie, I need you to think –– **really think** about the fact that **most of the homes in LazyTown are empty**."_

* * *

"He just _took_ them," Robbie said, repeating himself again, and Sportacus was actually relieved by the anger in his voice this time. Anger was better than nothing.

Unable to keep still any longer, Sportacus stood and started pacing in tight circles. Not ordinarily the type of movement he would have gone with, but he didn't want to startle Robbie.

Robbie was holding very still. "He just _took_ them, and we –– we just _let_ him."

Oh.

"Robbie––"

" _I_ just let him," Robbie hissed. He clambered to his feet and then just stood there, shaking.

"Hey," Sportacus said gently, reaching a hand towards him. "It wasn't your––"

"Shut up!" Robbie moved to shove his hand away and then jerked back at the last second, apparently remembering the wards. "It was _exactly_ my fault, _I_ was the only one who knew he was dangerous!"

"You did what you could."

"You don't know that," Robbie snapped, impatiently swiping tears away.

"I know _you_ ," Sportacus said firmly. "So yes, I do."

" _Don't_ patronize me."

"I'm really not." He reached a hand out again and drew back, frustrated. Quite apart from the wards, Robbie wouldn't _want_ physical contact right now. "You must have been under an incredible amount of pressure just to keep _yourself_ safe, it was not your responsibility to save everyone else."

"So you'd feel just _fine_ about this if you were me?"

Well...

Sportacus hesitated. He wasn't sure the truth would actually help right now, but he'd never been one for outright lies. And in Robbie's position, he would absolutely not feel fine.

"I don't feel fine about this as _me_ ," he said, which was _a_ truth. Just not the one Robbie had asked for. "I wouldn't say I was ever _friends_ with Number 9, but –– well, he was Number 9. I'm Number 10. We did _meet_. I did _know_ him. Or... I thought I did." He shook his head. "If anyone here should be feeling guilty––"

"We can both feel guilty," Robbie snapped. "You _should_ have realized, and I _should_ have done more, those aren't mutually exclusive. I didn't ask you to _absolve_ me of anything, and I'm not about to do the same for you."

Sportacus held up his hands in a placating gesture. "All right. _Okay_. You keep blaming both of us. I'll keep blaming me. But mostly, I'll keep blaming 9."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Look, the important thing is, we both know _now_."

"Yep." Robbie crossed his arms. " _Wonderful_. I'm so glad I get to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life, thank you _so_ _much_ for letting me into this little _club_!"

Sportacus frowned. "But now we can do something about it!"

Robbie rolled his eyes skyward, rocking back on his heels. "Oh, I wondered when you'd get to _that_. Yes, let's just go ahead and break all, what, _twenty_  remaining townsfolk out of this, I'm sure the kids would _love_ to know why their parents are afraid to go outside. I'm sure the mayor, incompetent fool that he is, won't be _eaten alive_ by guilt, knowing what he let into his town, and I'm _absolutely_ sure he'll feel _great_ about dragging his _niece_ into this living nightmare!"

All Sportacus could do was stare. "You... want to leave it intact?"

Robbie threw his arms up in the air. "Give the kid a prize!"

"Robbie... _Robbie_ , you know we can't –– we _can't_ do that to them, they're living a lie and we _know_ it!"

"Lucky them! I, for one, was much _happier with the lie_!"

Dismayed, Sportacus tried to think quickly. He kept getting stalled at the thought that he really, _really_ should have anticipated this. But he'd spent the past two weeks plagued by questions he couldn't believe he hadn't been asking for the past two _years_. The idea that anyone in that position might not want the _answers_ hadn't even occurred to him.

"Look," he said, already second-guessing himself but pressing forward anyway; the discussion as is was getting nowhere fast. "We can't just... decide what's best for them. If we do that, _how_ are we any better than––"

Two things happened at the same time:

The crystal started beeping.

And Robbie _punched_ him.

With his right hand.

Sportacus remembered the wards just in time to brace himself, but not in time to duck.

White hot pain flamed across his face, lessening minutely as it branched out. The shock of it, more than anything else, left him dazed. He shook his head, ears ringing.

"Don't you _dare_!" Robbie screamed, and, as tall as Robbie was, this was the first time Sportacus had ever had the sense of being _towered over_. "Don't you _ever_ compare me to him!"

"All right!" he said frantically, still reeling, backing up to the edge of the trail. "I'm sorry, Robbie, I didn't mean––"

But Robbie was not about to be talked down. " _Shut up_ ," he snarled.

And lunged.

They collided, a startled half dodge caught short by an unpracticed full body tackle. The pain this time was _everywhere_ , electric pinpricks exploding outward from every point of contact.

Sportacus had just enough sense to panic as he felt his feet leave the ground. " _Robbie_ ," he managed, gasping for breath. "The _forest_."

Too late.

They toppled over the edge of the path.

And the darkness swallowed them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY OH _BOY_ ARE THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS GONNA BE _F U N_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the perils of posting a WIP while it is still a WIP: i rethought the logistics of some timeline stuff and edited a smol but not insignificant chunk of dialogue in the last chapter.
> 
> –––
> 
> "Oh, I wondered when you'd get to _that_. Yes, let's just go ahead and break all, what, _twenty_ remaining townsfolk out of this, I'm sure the kids would _love_ to know why their parents are afraid to go outside. I'm sure the mayor, incompetent fool that he is, won't be _eaten alive_ by guilt, knowing what he let into his town, and I'm _absolutely_ sure he'll feel _great_ about dragging his _niece_ into this living nightmare!"
> 
> –––
> 
> we now return you to your regularly scheduled plot twist

Sportacus hit the ground, ignored the pain, rolled away from Robbie, and sprang to his feet.

The path was gone.

And the forest had transformed.

The scattered trees had become hulking monoliths; ancient, towering _things_ that blocked out the sun and tangled their roots together in the undergrowth, cutting off easy travel in most directions.

Sportacus had heard stories about forests like this. Most of those stories did not have happy endings. Most of those stories had _morals_. Morals about paths, and why you should never, ever leave them.

"Robbie," he said urgently, gritting his teeth, entire body still buzzing from the warded hit. "We can have this argument later, okay? Right now we need to work together to get––"

Robbie was laughing.

It was a laugh Sportacus had never heard before. High. And sharp. He couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"Robbie?" He squinted around in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. In the meantime he could just barely make out basic shapes by the light of his overwrought crystal, which was trying _very_ hard to get his attention.

"You really oughta listen to that thing."

He whipped around.

Robbie laughed again.

The voice had been right behind him, but the laughter seemed, again, to come from everywhere and nowhere.

The crystal stopped beeping and started to _whine_.

"Someone's in trouble," Robbie mocked, sing-song, from somewhere off to his left.

"I wonder _who_?" On his right.

"I have a guess." Directly in front of him, and Sportacus froze, forced himself not to back up.

A guttural, animalistic roar echoed down from the treetops, resolving into an acidic snarl. "There's an _elf_ in my forest."

And then a low growl, right behind him, so close he could feel breath on the back of his neck:

"And he'd better _run_."

* * *

_[Art](https://amolecularmachine.tumblr.com/post/158916091474/sooooo-ive-been-reading-catch-your-breath-there) by [Amolecularmachine](https://amolecularmachine.tumblr.com/). Posted here with artist's permission._

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Robbie was having a little trouble staying focused. Thoughts formed, circled, and dissipated like mist.

But he was used to that happening. He was especially used to that happening _here_.

He didn't _need_ to think. That was the whole point of this place. It was _his_ , and it knew the things he couldn't. He didn't need to remember why he was here or what he was doing. The forest could remember for him.

The forest remembered a lot.

It remembered _him_. Welcomed him. Had _missed_ him.

 _Oh_ , he thought, patting a gnarled trunk and feeling the familiar pull, the give and take of cooperative energy. _Been_ _**pining**_ , _have_ _we?_

Sadly, for all its merits, the forest was not really equipped to appreciate puns.

Oh, well.

"You've got a real _wooden_ sense of humor," he muttered, rapping his knuckles against the old tree, and then switched his attention back to the matter at hand:

The _elf_.

He was running. Carefully, not flat out, doing an admirable job so far of ducking low branches and vaulting sprawled roots. Robbie had half been afraid the proceedings might come to a disappointingly early end in the fern patch, but evidently he at least knew enough about these things to hold his breath through it.

Good.

Now, had he figured out yet that his night vision wasn't going to get any better? Number 9 had taken that aspect in stride, but Sportacus seemed significantly less well-versed in matters of magic.

Oh. Yes. He did know _which_ elf he was dealing with.

_Do you?_

He brushed the thought aside, impatient.

"You think you're so much better than the rest of us," he said, smirking when Sportacus skidded to a halt and looked around yet again for the source of his voice. Honestly, one simple invisibility charm, a few teleportations, some _basic_ vocal magnification, and the elf was practically jumping out of his skin. It was almost too easy. "Us _poor_ _humans_ with our little problems, and our little minds, and our _little lives_."

"I don't think that at all!"

Robbie snapped his fingers, and Sportacus shoved away from a tree trunk _just_ quickly enough to avoid the falling branch.

"Did I tell you to stop running?"

"Robbie, this is ridiculous!"

"I'll tell you what's _ridiculous_ ," Robbie snarled. " _You_. The _hero_ , the _good guy_ , the one who just wants to _help_ , no ulterior motive, no judgement, no smug sense of superiority, never even a hint of resentment. That doesn't exist!"

" _What_ are you _talking_ about?"

Now, where had the –– ah, _there_ it was. Robbie raised his arm, and the newly fallen branch rose out of the underbrush and flung itself straight at the elf's head.

Sportacus yelped, flattening himself to the ground. "Robbie! Why are you _doing_ this?"

"I'd get back up, if I were you." Robbie hummed contentedly, slowly closing his hand into a fist. He could already see the dirt crawling up and over the elf's limbs, his back, his head ––

Sportacus leapt to his feet and bolted.

"Ah, good," Robbie laughed, floating along just above him. "You _can_ take a hint."

"You didn't answer my question!"

Question?

Oh.

"Why am I doing this?" _Why_ _ **am**_ _I_ _doing_ _–– shut up_ _, shut up, **shut up**_. Hesitation was not an option. He didn't know _why_ it wasn't an option, but that didn't matter. Facts: he was in the woods with an elf and he was _angry_. The rest was easy enough to extrapolate. "I want to show you what you are. What we _both_ are."

"You're not making any sense!"

"I'll put this as simply as I can, _elf_. You think you're the _good_ one. The hero. The one who always wins, without ever having to sink to anyone else's level."

"I've never said ––" Branch. _Swing_. Sportacus stopped short, spat blood, and took off again in another direction. Smart. Useless, but smart.

"And I'm the _bad_ one," Robbie continued. "The _villain_. The one whose _character_ _flaws_ always end up foiling his own plans."

"That's not what I think!"

Tree root, up. The elf stumbled but didn't fall.

Robbie clucked his tongue, disparaging. "You're an awful liar. That's _exactly_ what you think. Because it's exactly what I've _been_ , as long as you've known me. But it's not what I _am_. Not any more than you're a flawless, invincible hero."

"I never claimed to be either of those things!"

"Oh, right." Robbie rolled his eyes. "You're _humble_ , too. Can't quite bring yourself to deny the word  _hero_ , though, can you?"

"What do you _want_ out of this?"

"I already told you." Honestly, maybe he'd spoken too soon about _hints_. "I'm going to show you what we are."

"Meaning?"

" _Meaning_ , as entertaining as this is, my patience is wearing thin. Very soon, I'm going to stop pulling my punches. And when I do, you'll have no choice but to turn and fight."

If Sportacus was surprised that he'd still been holding back, he didn't show it. Disappointing. "Robbie," he said, voice predictably, _boringly_ horrified. "I'm not –– I can't –– I don't want to hurt you!"

" _Tough_." Robbie materialized directly in front of him, raised both hands, and greatly enjoyed the look of shock on the elf's face as he went sailing backwards, pinned to a slab of rock.

"You're going to fight me," Robbie said, matter-of-fact. He splayed his hands and shrugged, grimaced apologetically: that's just how it is, what can ya do _._ "Or you're going to _die_."

And he snapped his fingers, and vanished.


	7. Chapter 7

Sportacus was operating primarily on instinct, mind still reeling. He had the distinct feeling of having left reality behind, back on the path.

So. Hallucination, or just pure, numb _shock_?

The sharp taste of blood in his mouth had him leaning towards the latter. This was real. This was happening.

He was already moving again, had hit the ground running the instant Robbie disappeared and let him drop from the rock face.

It was all he could do to watch where he was going and where he _was_ , every footfall a potential disaster, roots slithering up to trip him and branches sweeping low. He jumped between two of them, felt something catch at his ankle, and _kicked_ , hard. Hit the ground and didn't waste time, up and moving, sprinting, the soil itself racing upwards, nipping at his heels.

This place wanted to bury him.

And Robbie had said he was still pulling punches.

He needed a plan. Not his strong suit. He had a vague idea that it was probably wise to keep Robbie talking, keep him engaged. "I'm not going to fight you!" he called.

"Save your breath." The response, once again, had no source he could pinpoint. "You'll _need_ it."

"This isn't _you_ , Robbie!"

The resulting growl sent an ice cold spike of primal fear down his spine. "Have you listened to a word I've said? This _is_ me. That's the _point_."

"Maybe I would have an easier time understanding," Sportacus suggested, diving headfirst through a rapidly dwindling opening in a tangle of branches, "if you stopped trying to kill me long enough to explain?"

That _laughter_ again. "Oh, my _incredibly_ naive friend. This isn't what me trying to _kill_ you looks like. Not _yet_. I'm just getting warmed up."

The ground began to move. Between the roots, the branches, and all the other plant life, it took Sportacus a second to notice. Which was almost a second too long. The dirt beneath his feet simply fell away, and he just barely managed to kick off and across the emerging crevice, landed on his hands and knees and shoved himself to his feet, ripping the vines that had instantly sprouted and tried to wind around his wrists.

"Still not going to fight you!" he shouted.

"Adorable," Robbie said dryly, directly over his right shoulder, and Sportacus did not allow himself to flinch, did not stop running, did not turn his head. He knew there would be nothing to see.

A huff of pleased laughter, practically in his ear:

" _Now_ you're catching on."

* * *

So the elf wanted to be _noble_ about this.

Well, fine. Robbie could keep this up all day. He stopped talking, gave Sportacus a few more minutes to waste his stamina outrunning the easy stuff.

The energy of this place was almost intoxicating, an endless feedback loop of pure magic. It _burned_ , but it was a burning Robbie was familiar with, had learned to revel in. It was the eyes-wide-open feeling of a finished project after three days of no sleep, it was the thrill of outlasting exhaustion, the grim satisfaction of continuing to function on necessity and caffeine and spite.

In short, it was finite, and ultimately self-destructive. But he knew what to do with it.

He rubbed his hands together, magic crackling between them like static electricity.

"And now," he said, keeping his voice projected to just behind the elf and taking careful aim at a tree directly in his path, "the gloves, metaphorically speaking, come _off_."

* * *

_[Art](http://pandemi-doodles.tumblr.com/post/156139424544/he-rubbed-his-hands-together-magic-crackling) by [Pandemi-Doodles](http://pandemi-doodles.tumblr.com/). Posted here with the artist's permission._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such short chapters; i'm trying to keep myself to a rule of only posting when i have at least a rough draft of the next one written


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to reiterate that reading all your comments always gets me v emotional (in a good way!) and pumped to write more, i have done a lot of fingerguns at the screen while saying things like "OH JUST U WAIT" and "U GET ME BUDDY", and i am very glad we are all along for this ride together

There was a noise like screaming metal, like howling wind, like _something_ _very_ _wrong_ , and Sportacus realized an entire oak tree was collapsing just ahead of him. It took a moment to even make sense because the thing was simply _too big_ to be able to just –– just _fall_.

He didn't _wait_ for it to make sense. Dug his heels into the ground and threw himself sideways, around the back of the toppling behemoth, snapping his goggles into place as the emerging roots kicked up sprays of mud from deep within the earth.

The ground was tearing itself to shreds, crumbling along new fissures, and the shockwave when the tree actually _hit_ nearly knocked him into the ever-widening pit the roots had left behind.

* * *

_[Art](http://stuffdone.tumblr.com/post/155913448582/kay-last-one-for-today-and-before-you-ask-yes) by [Stuffdone](http://stuffdone.tumblr.com/). Posted here with the artist's permission._

* * *

And all the while, the crystal screamed.

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ ," Sportacus hissed at it, knowing he was wasting his breath. He couldn't afford the split concentration it would take to actually keep the thing quiet. "I _know_! Shut up!"

Normally it didn't bother him. Under the circumstances, the extra noise was not only a distraction; it was just plain _overwhelming_. Survival instincts and adrenaline were just about the only things keeping him from panicking at this point, and if he hadn't been pretty sure Robbie could tell exactly where he was with or without the blaring alarm, he would have seriously contemplated ripping the thing off and pitching it somewhere as a decoy.

At least the light gave him something to see by.

His instincts screamed at him to sprint, flat out, but he pushed back, paced himself: stopping to catch his breath was no longer an option. Vines whipped down from the trees and up out of the ground, snapping at his limbs, and dirt was still flinging itself at his back, trying to engulf him.

Something like lightning struck the ground ahead, a flash of deep purple, spitting excess magic like electrical sparks. Sportacus didn't dare double back; he again threw himself sideways, gritting his teeth against the bursts of pain where the sparks landed, glanced over his shoulder only long enough to see a crack in the ground racing directly towards him, and kept running.

He tried to think of everything, _anything_ , he had ever learned about fae magic, but the memories were hazy and he couldn't waste time reaching for them, had to stay focused on the here and now. He couldn't even tell what was fae and what was neutral –– Robbie had said he was less than half fae, and Robbie was _resourceful_ , so it was a safe bet that he'd learned as much human-accessible magic as possible.

A branch swung outward at ground level and he jumped, narrowly avoiding getting his feet swept out from under him.

Think. Keep moving and _think_.

Why was Robbie doing this? He'd made him angry, back on the path, angry enough for violence, but angry enough for _this_? No.

Clearly he had a connection to this forest. He'd called it _his_ , and Sportacus could feel the truth of that, even without the subtle hint of the entire place trying to murder him.

So. _Think_.

Robbie had broken glamours before. Robbie had survived Number 9. _Robbie_ had suggested going into the woods, far from town.

How do you defend yourself against someone who can make you forget that you _need_ to? What do you do to protect yourself from someone who can take away the knowledge of _why_ you're afraid, why you're angry, why you're fighting them in the first place?

Sportacus spun away from a hurtling boulder and cast his thoughts back to adolescence, back to the most basic lessons about glamours and self defense, and the answer rose up, textbook-dry, rote knowledge that everyone filed away and no one ever had to _use_ , not in this day and age:

 _You make a place that remembers for you_.

There was more to it than that. Complications, dangers. You could put too much of yourself into a place. You could let too much of it into you.

Jump. Duck. _Move_. His lungs were starting to burn.

He needed to _talk_ to Robbie, but there was no hope of getting through to him in the middle of all of this.

 _Stop pretending you don't know what you have to do_.

Deep breath. Don't stop moving, just concentrate, _concentrate_ ; it had been so long since he'd accessed this part of his mind, this aspect of his magic –– he _hoped_ it was like riding a bicycle.

Like riding a bicycle through an actively homicidal forest. Right.

"Okay," he whispered, flexing his hands as he felt the awareness start to kick in, potential energy tingling. "Be _careful_."

Under no circumstances would he allow himself to _kill_ Robbie.

But he was going to have to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry robbie i had to break your streak of ominous chapter-ending dialogue
> 
> next chapter is 90% written! and the one after it is outlined.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a brief part in this chapter that's probably not great if you're claustrophobic

He always forgot what this felt like.

The ache in his legs, the burning in his chest and sides, the threat of fatigue; they all began to fade into the background. The magic, once unstoppered, coursed through him in its usual form, inasmuch as he did this often enough to have a usual: pure energy.

Potent.

Volatile.

Very, very tricky.

He forced himself to keep to his current pace, which now felt _incredibly_ slow. He could easily triple it –– and would, if he didn't carefully monitor himself.

Of course, the magic didn't stop there.

His vision hadn't so much improved as it had... shifted. What he could see, mostly, was magic. A haze of purple tinging the aura of every tree, every leaf, every stone. The forest's own inherent life force pulsated gently within the outline; deep greens and vibrant oranges scattered amongst the paler, sicklier shades of white and yellow.

It was dizzying.

Now for the risky part. Could a partial fae –– more to the point, could _Robbie_ –– read magical auras well enough to recognize what he'd just done? And if Robbie _could_ , how safe was it to count on him being too far gone to pay attention to such details?

Well. Too late to worry about it now.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Sportacus thought but didn't dare even whisper aloud, shut his eyes, and deliberately tripped over the next sweeping branch.

It wasn't difficult to make the ensuing struggle look real.

Even before he hit the ground, vines shot through the crumbling surface, wrapping him up from the shoulders down. He managed one deep breath before the soil claimed him, loose dirt giving way to clinging mud as the forest gouged itself, dragging him down. The goggles were ripped from his face and he kept his eyes and mouth shut tight.

He had to stay calm. He didn't have to _look_ calm, which was a big help, but he did have to _be_ calm. Be calm and really, _really_ hope he wasn't underestimating Robbie's flair for the dramatic.

"Well." The voice was right in front of him. So was the source. He could feel the sudden concentration of power. " _That_ was just disappointing."

 _Now_.

He took hold of the pent up magical energy, directed it as best he could –– he was _very_ out of practice at having to control so much of it at once, but it was coming back to him quickly –– and ripped his arms free of the vines, punching straight through the hardened mud shell.

Robbie was still invisible, but Sportacus didn't need to see _him_. His magic was bright enough.

Too bright. Frantic.

Sportacus kicked free of the vines and mud and launched himself forward.

This was going to _hurt_. But the element of surprise was only going to work once.

He grabbed Robbie's shoulders on impact and rolled, pinning him to the ground and directing most of his magic into shutting down pain reception as the wards did their work. He could still feel the burning, the rapidfire individual pinpricks, but they were far away.

"Robbie," he said, startled by the sound of his own voice, hoarse and clumsy through gritted teeth. He couldn't seem to unclench his jaw. "We have to _stop_ this."

Robbie only laughed, making no move to free himself. "That was some impressive acting, _elf_. Didn't know you had it in you." He grabbed Sportacus's arm with his right hand, muttered something Sportacus didn't catch, and the pain just ––

 _spiked_. Tenfold, twentyfold, deep electrifying gashes, boiling water on open wounds, agony like nothing he had ever _felt_ ––

Instinct took over and he rolled off, scrambled away, entirely involuntary. The sudden absence of pain left him lightheaded. "Robbie," he choked, standing up and willing his legs to stop shaking, "stop and _think_ , please, it's _me_ , it's just –– just _you_ , and just _me_."

And now he did wish he could see Robbie's face. It would have told him much more than the blank silhouette of sputtering energy. All he could read from that were the things he had already guessed: Robbie was angry, and exhausted, and afraid. He was burning himself out.

And then he was gone.

Sportacus groaned, and took off in the direction of the sudden magical power shift.

All around him, the forest started up its defenses again, reaching for him, seeking him out. There was something almost halfhearted about it, though he could have been imagining the feeling.

New plan:

Step one, _think_ of a new plan. Good start.

He needed a weapon. The wards alone weren't going to kill him, but repeated sustained exposure to directly hostile magic might weaken him enough that something else could. He couldn't afford to attack Robbie like that again unless he was willing to risk using potentially lethal force to bring him down in one go, which he _absolutely_ was not.

Experimentally, he slowed down just enough to pick up a stick.

It immediately swung itself at his face.

"Okay!" he yelped, ducking, and let the stick's own momentum send it flipping end over end behind him. "It was just an idea!"

Right. So. He couldn't attack Robbie without a weapon. And nothing in this forest was going to allow itself to _be_ that weapon. He could try using his own magic to take control of a single branch or a few rocks, but the idea felt like too much of a lost cause to even be worth thinking through. His power was far more centered on his own mind and body –– Robbie clearly had the upper hand when it came to external magic. And this entire place had been _his_ for _years_.

He needed something that wasn't a part of this forest. But there was no way the trees would allow anything to drop from his ship, and he hadn't brought anything with him. Normally he would have at least had some kind of sports equipment on hand in case of emergencies, but he hadn't even bothered with that, since it was just going to be the two of them, too far away from town to help if anything did happen to the others. He hadn't counted on something happening to _them_ , or at least not something like this. All he had was what he always had –– his backpack.

...His backpack.

He stopped moving.

And then immediately had to jump over a tangle of vines, which seemed just as startled as he was.

He kept running, thoughts racing. He had his _backpack_. Could he really –– could he _actually_ –– ?

Robbie's shimmering outline was just ahead, leaning against a tree, head cocked at an angle that suggested curiosity. He was waiting to see what Sportacus would do.

"Robbie," Sportacus called, necessity making up his mind for him, "I really hope we both live long enough for you to make fun of me for this!"

"What are you––"

He slapped a hand to the insignia on his chest and got ready to catch. "Apple!"

Robbie's silhouette jolted ramrod straight, violet sparks crackling in indignation. "You've got to be _kidding_ me."

Sportacus caught the apple, reigned in his own strength, cut the magic off at just the right point –– _bruise, don't break_ –– hauled back his arm, and threw.

Robbie ducked, but not fast enough. The apple missed his shoulder and slammed into the side of his head, and Sportacus momentarily panicked –– he hadn't taken that possibility into account, how hard _had_ he thrown that ––

And then Robbie vanished again.

Sportacus sighed and followed the sparking trail, dispensing the next apple. He glanced down at it, considered his options, and took a bite.

Using his magic like this really burned through his energy, as deceitfully powerful as it felt. He could manage short bursts of extremely high energy, or sustained low-to-mid-level usage, but mixing both was asking for trouble.

Robbie had stopped again up ahead, leaning against another tree. The invisibility was faltering –– Sportacus could see a faint impression of the actual Robbie, clutching his sides, gasping for breath, but even as he approached Robbie _snarled_ at him, lunging forward and raising one hand.

The magic hit him like a truck, but he'd been braced for it. Sportacus let the wave carry him, rolled to his feet, took another bite of the apple, aimed, calibrated, and threw.

This one hit its target, and Robbie fell, swearing, clutching at his leg.

"I just want to talk," Sportacus said, loud and slow, approaching with his hands up.

Robbie snapped his fingers and vanished, wavering a bit longer than his usual instant disappearances.

Sportacus started to curse under his breath in Elvish, remembered that Robbie had stationed himself here _specifically_ to drive off an elf, remembered _also_ that Robbie had once created a mechanical dog that attacked at the word _trouble_ , and clamped his mouth shut.

He realized he'd been standing in place for at least a few seconds and whirled around, arms up in front of his face –– but there was nothing.

There was nothing at _all_.

The forest had simply... stopped.

Oh, he could still feel how much the place _hated_ him, wanted him _gone_ , wanted him _dead_. It just wasn't actually doing anything about it anymore.

Which gave him a very, very bad feeling about Robbie.

The magical energy signature was fading fast, but he could still follow it. Robbie hadn't gone far.

He'd gone _up_.

"Oh." Sportacus rocked back on his heels, craning his neck and squinting. "Well, that wasn't a very good idea, was it?"

"Shut up!"

Robbie was only about halfway up the tree. This being a very old, extremely _tall_ tree, that still left him dangerously high, clinging to a branch that _would_ have looked sturdy enough if Sportacus hadn't still been paying attention: the entire tree's aura was flickering, almost a warning, pale off-white and far too faint.

Sportacus took a moment to ponder the situation. Then he called up, "Are you done trying to kill me?"

"No!"

"...Five minute break?"

" _Just go away_."

Very briefly, he contemplated actually doing that. Maybe the forest would let him back out onto the path now? Maybe Robbie would eventually come to his senses, if left to his own devices?

Or maybe he would stay here, in this dying forest, until it had drained all the magic out of him.

"I'm coming up!" Sportacus warned. "Just to help you get down, okay?"

"I don't need your _help_!"

"All right, then go ahead and teleport yourself back down here."

There was a long silence. Then,

"I _can_ , you know! I just need –– ten minutes!"

"The branch might not _have_ ten minutes," Sportacus pointed out, removing the one other thing he did have in his backpack: grappling hooked rope. Safety first.

Well, safety first, plus the fact that he still couldn't actually _touch_ Robbie. Convincing him to climb down the tree on his own was going to be another fun bridge to cross. 

* * *

 

_[Art](http://celepom.tumblr.com/post/156341696392/not-from-into-the-light-this-time-its-from-the) by [Celepom](http://celepom.tumblr.com/). Posted here with artist's permission._

* * *

He pitched the hook straight up, nodding with a hum of satisfaction when it caught in the crook of two branches. He tugged on the rope, decided this was as close to an actually stable purchase as he was going to get, tied the other end to his belt, took a deep breath, and _ran_ up the tree.

He could have just climbed. Probably _should_ have just climbed, but in the face of this sudden respite, the magical energy was batting at him, begging for something to _do_.

Plus, this was faster. He didn't know how long this relative peace between the two of them was going to last, and figured he had better make use of it while he could.

Robbie was fully visible now, lying down on the far end of the branch, clinging to it and glaring. His magic was a faint outline, barely there, and the glare was... a little bit off. A little too distant. A little too defiant.

Like he didn't know _why_ , but wasn't about to admit it.

Sportacus stood up, leaning against the body of the tree and waiting for his head to stop spinning. Two bites of an apple was, perhaps, not actually adequate fuel for the kind of day he was having. "Okay, Robbie, just crawl towards me and I'll give you the rope."

"You're the _hero_ ," Robbie sneered, locking his arms and legs even tighter around the branch. "You come over _here_."

"This tree is very sick," Sportacus said gently, hoping not to strike a nerve. As conversation topics went, _h_ _ey, your horrifyingly enchanted coping mechanism of a forest is clearly dying_ was probably a bad one to broach under the circumstances. "I don't know if this branch would hold both of us that far out."

"Why are you _helping_ me?"

"You're my friend," he said, and took one step forward, arms out for balance. "And something is clearly wrong."

Robbie made a choked noise that might have been a laugh. "I've spent the past, what, _hour_? Trying to _kill_ you."

Another step. "That's exactly what I mean."

"What––"

Which was when the branch, apparently sensing its moment, snapped in half.

Time slowed.

Not enough.

Barely aware of his own movements, Sportacus was already leaping by the time he thought to direct the magic –– _**faster**_ _, help me,_ _ **please**_ _, this can't_ ––

He dove straight at Robbie, braced himself for the pain, and managed to grab a hand.

Left hand.

No pain.

The rope snapped taut, winding him, and he spun into position to land feet-first against the trunk as they swung back around, arms extended to keep from slamming Robbie into the tree.

For a long few seconds, Sportacus couldn't bring himself to look away from the dangling half of the broken branch, waiting for it to fall. He tried to think about –– anything, tried to _feel_ anything, and came up blank.

Too much adrenaline. Too much concentrated magic use. Too much time in a hostility-saturated environment. His head was buzzing; his crystal and armguard were both blinking red.

And Robbie was staring at him. At his hands. At _their_ hands.

"I forgot," Sportacus said, and it felt like trying to speak through a mouthful of cotton. "About the cufflink."

"Yeah." Robbie's response was muffled. Far away. "Me t–– wait, _wait_ , no, you _forgot_? And you –– you _still_ –– you thought it would _hurt_."

Sportacus blinked, very slowly. "...What?"

Robbie looked away. "Nothing. Never mind. I think we're close enough to the gr –– hey –– _hey_ ––"

It took a few seconds to realize he had closed his eyes, and then he couldn't seem to open them. Robbie was still talking, very fast, very loud, and Sportacus _tried_ to make out the words but most of his willpower was going into keeping his grip on Robbie's hand. That was important.

It was hard to remember why.

But it was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sportacus: [runs around a forest laden with anti-elf magic for like 45 minutes, rescues the guy trying to kill him, and passes tf out] parkour??
> 
> alternatively, incident #372 of sportacus contradicting his own claim that foOD'S FOR GROWING NOT FOR THROWING


	10. Chapter 10

Robbie felt... empty. Empty of thought. Empty of feeling. Utterly devoid of any motivation more complex than the faintest stirrings of what were probably survival instincts.

Luckily, he'd had plenty of practice dealing with exactly this state of mind.

Not-thinking was probably for the best, under the circumstances. The forest really, really _wanted_ him to think. About the fact that he was alone with a barely conscious elf. About how easy it would be to leave him here, walk away without any _real_ blood on his hands, even, unless of course he'd rather make _sure_ ––

He blocked it out. The panic, the rage, the resignation –– it wasn't his. Not anymore. He'd left it here. Left it _behind_.

A sudden surge of genuine emotion: guilt. This place had kept him _safe_ , and how had he repaid it? He'd abandoned it, left it to atrophy with nothing to feed on but old magic and fear. For a _decade_.

His breath hitched. He shut his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass, pressing his right hand against the dying tree. _I'm sorry_.

The tree.

Right.

He was dangling from a _tree_. He should probably do something about that.

The only hint that Sportacus was not completely out cold was the grip he still had on Robbie's left hand with both of his.

To avoid all the _thoughts_ that would surely come of staring at the elf (who had _forgotten the missing ward_ and _grabbed him anyway_ and ––), he instead stared down at the ground.

Which was also not great.

They were low enough that he could probably drop and not be seriously injured, but that would leave Sportacus hanging by his belt, nearly unconscious. Of course, he could untie the rope and let _both_ of them drop –– not _fun_ , but not deadly. The only problem was that this would almost certainly require something in the way of physical contact.

Especially if he intended to _catch_ the elf, as opposed to just letting him hit the ground.

Ordinarily, the solution would have been simple: cancel out his own wards for the necessary length of time, pull off daring and heroic maneuver, handshakes all around.

But he was using... a _lot_ of wards. Powerful wards. Every old one that he'd been able to find, and every new one he'd had time to make. Time-tested strength and new, vibrant, untarnished power.

And he was _tired_.

The thing was, he could always just... turn them off. It was a simple gesture, a short invocation. Well, _re_ vocation. Deactivating other people's wards was a lengthy, difficult, and dangerous process; deactivating your own was like flipping a switch.

 _Re_ activating them was another matter entirely.

He wouldn't be able to. Not now, not after all of... that.

It was already getting difficult to remember what exactly he'd been doing. Burning himself out, _clearly_.

The fear and anger rushed at him again, remnants of the person the forest remembered him to be: _why would you even think about doing that? Just run! You don't even have to kill him. But if you deactivate the wards and he **wakes up**..._

Robbie rolled his eyes. It was safer, in this moment, to think of his past self as an (even more) overdramatic fool than to acknowledge all of the perfectly valid reasons he'd had for being the way he was.

 _I don't **need** the wards_ , he thought firmly, mostly to reassure the forest.

Mostly.

He shut them down. Easy. Simple. Winced a little at the old, familiar feeling –– like an unnoticed, not unpleasant white noise had suddenly stopped.

Now for the ridiculous part.

Deep breath.

Tightening his own grip on Sportacus's hand, he swung himself up, managed some relatively steady footing against the tree, and grabbed the rope to keep himself upright.

Absolutely not thinking about how horribly wrong this could _instantly_ go, Robbie wrenched his left arm free of Sportacus's grasp and grabbed the back of his belt instead, refusing to look at the ground. There wasn't time to rethink the height: his feet were sliding against the bark, the rope swinging further and further out.

Clutching the rope at about shoulder height with one hand, he undid the knot with the other, let go of the rope in the instant before it came loose, scrambled to get Sportacus into his arms in midair, and threw all of his remaining magical stamina into cushioning their landing.

It still hurt.

Robbie's left knee buckled and he hastily lowered Sportacus to the ground before he could drop him, then stumbled back to collapse against the tree trunk and congratulate himself on a crisis well averted.

He should get back up. Get Sportacus out of here –– get _both_ of them out of there. And he would, in just a few minutes. More like seconds, really. That was all he needed. Just to catch his breath. Just to let his magic regenerate for a bit.

Just to rest his eyes...

* * *

_The whistling was high and fast, a cheery staccato, and Robbie pretended not to hear it. He knew it was a test._

_Unless it was a **double** test. To see if he was pretending not to notice things._

_He tried to look lost in thought, portraying to any onlookers a sense that he could easily have been either completely oblivious to the sound of whistling or casually, uncalculatedly ignoring it._

_His boots crunched in the snow. He focused on that sound and on mumbling his shopping list under his breath, not letting it turn into anything else. Look busy. Look preoccupied. Look ––_

_startled. Look startled, jump, **shout** , because that's what people do when elves suddenly appear in front of them, that's what they do when they definitely weren't aware of being followed, unless of course he still wasn't supposed to **see** the elf, in which case ––_

_Number 9 grinned, and something about his face –– eyes lit up in genuine mirth, but lips pulled back in more of a deliberate show of **teeth** –– made Robbie hesitate for just one heartbeat before taking another step._

_It was enough._

_The elf's eyes flashed._

_"Got you."_

_Robbie started to run._

* * *

He shot forward, arms braced in front of his face, mouth clenched shut to keep from yelling.

_Look at your hands. Look at your hands._

Ten fingers. Twenty. Again. Ten. Twenty. Dreams couldn't do that. Dreams couldn't _do_ that.

He stood up, slamming his mind shut against the forest's attempt at comfort –– _you're_ _ **safe**_ _here, we'll protect you, just leave the elf_ _ **here**_ _, just leave him to us._

Sportacus hadn't moved an inch from where Robbie had less than gracefully set him down. Robbie studied him critically for a moment, drowning out the forest with much more practical thoughts about unconscious allies, potentially sprained knees, and the distance from here to the path.

He sat down and rolled Sportacus onto his side, eyeing the insignia on his chest. The crystal was blinking red, but had stopped making noise, which was _possibly_ a good thing. Possibly not.

"... _Apple_ ," Robbie said flatly, and poked it.

He nearly shrieked in surprise when an apple actually did shoot out of the backpack, rolling a few feet away.

"I wasn't _scared_ ," he insisted to nobody in particular, crawling after the apple and thinking that at _least_ Sportacus had had enough sense not to voice or handprint-lock a device he had to have built (commissioned? where did he _get_ this stuff?) knowing that someone else might need to use it to help him at some point.

He waved the fruit in Sportacus's face, breathing half a sigh of relief before catching himself when the elf's eyes opened.

"Can you _smell_ these things, or what?" he said, depositing the apple in Sportacus's hand.

When this seemed to prompt no further action, Robbie rolled his eyes, lifted his own hand to his face, and mimed taking an exaggerated bite out of something.

Sportacus slowly moved his gaze from Robbie to the apple, and Robbie tried not to think about how... _unfocused_ he looked.

Finally he seemed to get it. Lifted the apple, took one bite. Circumstances aside, Robbie half expected him to leap dramatically to his feet, as per usual, but no. All he did was take another bite. Slowly. Another. He ate the whole apple (even the _core_ , which, _what_ ), hit the insignia for another (which he caught, because of course he did), finished off that one, and finally sat up.

"Two _entire_ apples," Robbie said dryly, shoving down his very real worry over exactly that fact. "How much magic did you _use_?"

Sportacus shrugged. "I'm out of practice." He looked up at the tree, frowning. "How did we get down?"

"Through an amazing feat of acrobatic stunts. It's a shame you missed it, because I'm never doing it again. ...What?"

Sportacus was giving him an odd, sideways sort of look, and then finally turned to face him directly, tilting his head. "You... don't hurt to look at."

"Well, _thanks_."

"I –– I mean!" Sportacus stammered, facing flushing bright red. "I mean, the _wards_."

"Oh, _those_." Robbie waved a hand dismissively. "I shut them off."

Sportacus stared at him. And then up at the rope, still dangling from the tree. Then back at Robbie.

"Yeah, yeah," Robbie grumbled, looking away. "You're _welcome_ or... whatever. Let's just get out of here before something _else_ happens."

Sportacus stood, and Robbie couldn't help but think that he was still moving very, very slowly. Slowly for _him_ , anyway.

Basically, he stood up like a normal person and didn't do a cartwheel or flip onto his hands or go somersaulting through the air and Robbie was _very_ _worried_.

He did offer a hand up, which Robbie took, and then begrudgingly leaned against the elf's shoulder when it became apparent that refusing to do so for dignity's sake was only going to lead to a lot of stumbling.

"Think I sprained my knee," he muttered, and then added quickly, "do _not_ carry me, you look like death not even warmed over and even _you_ have to have a finite supply of apples."

Sportacus didn't laugh. Just locked elbows with him, glanced down at his swollen knee and hissed sympathetically. "I might be able to help with that, once we're out of here."

"You can heal?"

He shrugged the shoulder Robbie wasn't leaning on. "It's been a while since I've had to, but I can try."

"...Thanks."

They fell silent after that. Robbie was concentrating on remembering the way out. He didn't know what Sportacus was concentrating on. Staying upright, possibly.

At any rate, the quiet was just fine by him. As soon as they hit the path, he figured, they would probably have a _lot_ to talk about.

The forest was reluctant to see him go. It was more confused than angry now, more upset than vengeful. There was an _elf_ here. Didn't he know? Didn't he _care_?

It didn't try to stop him, of course.

The greenery thinned out; younger, smaller trees cropping up here and there until they became the norm, scattered further and further apart.

The shift when they crossed back onto the path felt a lot like falling.

The smothering presence of ten years ago fled, leaving sudden room in Robbie's brain for things like immediate memory and longterm critical thinking to crowd back in.

"... _Oh_." He let go of Sportacus, staggered away from him, and sat down hard, eyes shut tight. He couldn't _believe_ –– what had he _done_? What was he _thinking_? "I'm..."

The word burned in his throat, and he swallowed down a reluctance that had nothing to do with _pride_. It simply wasn't _adequate_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered anyway, because he had to. What else was there? "I –– I don't know if I can explain ––"

"I get it."

He opened his eyes warily as Sportacus sat next to him.

Sat. _Willingly_.

"I know enough about places like this to know that wasn't... entirely you," Sportacus said slowly. "And I'm... sorry for what I said. Before."

Robbie took a moment to puzzle backwards through the events of the day.

_"We can't just... decide what's best for them. If we do that, **how** are we any better than––"_

He clamped down on the surge of anger. He had no right. Not after all of that. "It's fine," he muttered, hunching his shoulders.

Sportacus took hold of his hand, and Robbie tensed, confused, and almost missed his response:

"I shouldn't have said it."

"I shouldn't have punched you into a death forest, we all make mistakes."

Sportacus actually laughed. Robbie opened his eyes, peered down at their joined hands, and decided not to question it. For now. It was _pleasant_ , which was more than could be said for anything else that had happened today. He'd take that.

"I think," he said slowly, switching his gaze to the trees and willing himself not to imagine snow, "it'll take... a while, to figure out... _exactly_ what he did."

Sportacus squeezed his hand. "Is it still the glamour? Or..."

"No." Robbie tapped the side of his own head. "Just good, old-fashioned trauma and repression. The glamour _started_ it, I mean, that's just... what's left."

"Do you think you could remember enough about –– just about the missing people, to tell a search party what to look for?"

Robbie let several seconds pass while he waited for that question to make sense. "A _search_ _party_?"

"You said he took people. I have... a few ideas about _where_."

Robbie turned sharply away from the trees and met Sportacus's gaze, forcing himself to stay calm. "What, and you're not planning to go flipping off to rescue them yourself?"

Sportacus didn't smile. "I wouldn't make it ten seconds in any of the places I'm thinking of. Neither would you, and I _really_ don't mean that as an insult, but. We're... not the kind of people they let in."

"'The kind of people'?"

Sportacus looked away. "You're human. _And_ fae. And I don't even know _which_ of those would get you killed faster. And I'm... the kind of elf that the kind of elves I'm thinking of are not fond of."

"The kind of elf who gets along with non-elves."

"Exactly."

Robbie stared blankly at the ground and tried to come up with names. Faces. _Anything_. License plate numbers. Hairstyles.

All he was getting was a headache.

"I'll... think about it," he said. "In the meantime, there's someone I can call. It's... better to give him some warning, anyway."

"I had some people in mind, too."

" _What_." Robbie snorted, sheer incredulity jarring him out of his bleak contemplation. " _You've_ got friends in low places?"

Sportacus grinned. "I'm a friendly guy."

"Yeah, well." Robbie ignored the sudden fluttering in his stomach. "Maybe it's better if we put together two separate teams, anyway. The more the merrier, or... whatever."

"Good thinking." Sportacus stood up, pulling Robbie with him. "Until then, we still need to decide what to do about the townsfolk."

Robbie's mind went completely blank. "Listen," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I am zero percent emotionally or psychologically capable of having that discussion right now and I don't think either of us wants to end up back in the woods. Can we just –– table that, for a couple days?" Or weeks. Or months.

For a second, Sportacus looked like he might argue. Then the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders got about as close to an actual _slump_ as they probably ever did while he wasn't actively losing consciousness. "Yeah, sure. I'm probably not... in the best frame of mind for it either. Oh –– your knee."

Robbie looked down at his knee, and then back up at Sportacus, and sighed. "You look about five seconds from another blackout. Just call your ship down and drop me off at my place? I can mix up a salve, it'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I _sure_ ," Robbie said slowly, "I don't want to deal with the mixed feelings of you knocking yourself back out trying to heal the leg I hurt while saving you, _after_ you saved me, after I _repeatedly_ tried –– and let me really emphasize this –– tried to _murder_ you. _Hm_." He pretended to think very seriously about this. " _Yes_ , I'm sure."

Sportacus just laughed. "Whatever you say."

"Just please actually _land_ that thing, I am not climbing a ladder."

"Okay, Robbie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS ROBBIE AND SPORTACUS EMERGE FROM THE WOODS, SO DO WE EMERGE FROM THE TATTERS OF 2016
> 
> And... it's done???? It's done! One more (multichapter) installment on the way, though when I first started I thought I was only writing one story, so we'll see how that goes lol.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me! This is the first multichapter fic with an actual continuous story that I've finished in... years. Possibly ever, not counting twoshots. You all have been a huge part of that; the knowledge that there are people out there reading this + your comments especially get me SO PUMPED to keep writing and do my best to deliver good things. I hope you're all having a fantastic 2017 so far, and if you're not, please know that I am metaphorically pelting the concept of 2017 with apples on your behalf.
> 
> And uh here is where a warning goes: the next installment is going to be... darker. I don't know how much darker, but definitely a... not insignificant amount, as it does involve Robbie figuring out exactly what Number 9 did to LazyTown. I can promise you a) i Don't Do noncon type stuff and b) i am entirely too much of a wimp to ever kill off Robbie or Sporto, so. There's that.
> 
> Sorry this is probably unnecessary, I just feel eXTREMELY CONFLICTED about posting Dark Stuff in a children's show category, especially one that i know a lot of us (me included) turn to for comfort. i tried my best to keep the creepiness to a minimum in this fic so no one would suddenly be hit by content they didn't sign up for when they clicked the first chapter, but the next one is going to actually delve into some Stuff. ...also might have more actual swearing, as opposed to "he swore" and "he cursed" lol.


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